Amphillis rose, hastily gathering her work upon one arm. The Countess, who had heard nothing, for she had been sleeping since her bower-maiden returned from supper, looked up with more interest than she usually showed. The entrance of a complete stranger was something very unexpected and unaccountable. "Christ save you, holy Father! I pray you, pardon me that I arise not, being ill at ease, to entreat your blessing. Well, Avena, what has moved thee to bring a fresh face into this my dungeon, prithee? It should be somewhat of import." "Madame, this is my Lord's Grace elect of York, who, coming hither on his way southwards, mine husband counted it good for your Grace's soul to shrive you of his Grace's hand. My Lord, if your Grace have need of a crucifix, or of holy water, both be behind this curtain. Come, Mistress Amphillis. His Grace will be pleased to rap on the door, when it list him to come forth; and I pray you, abide in your chamber, and hearken for the same." "I thank thee, Avena," said the Countess, with her curt laugh. "Sooth to say, I wist not my soul was of such worth in thine eyes, and still less in thine husband's. I would my body weighed a little more with the pair of you. So I am to confess my sins, forsooth? That shall be a light matter, methinks; I have but little chance to sin, shut up in this cage. Truly, I should find myself hard put to it to do damage to any of the Ten Commandments, hereaway. A dungeon's all out praisable for keeping folks good--nigh as well as a sick bed. And when man has both together, he should be marvellous innocent. There, go thy ways; I'll send for thee when I lack thee." Lady Foljambe almost slammed the door behind her, and, locking it, charged Amphillis to listen carefully for the Archbishop's knock, and to unlock the door the moment she should hear it. The Archbishop, meanwhile, had seated himself in the only chair in the room corresponding to that of the Countess. A chair was an object of consequence in the eyes of a mediaeval gentleman, for none but persons of high rank might sit on a chair; all others were relegated to a form, styled a bench when it had a back to it. Stools, however, were allowed to all. That certain formalities or styles of magnificence should have been restricted to persons of rank may be reasonable; but it does seem absurd that no others should have been allowed to be comfortable. "The good old times" were decidedly inconvenient for such as had no handles to their names. "I speak, as I have been told, to the Lady Marguerite, Duchess of Brittany, and mother to my Lord Duke?" inquired the Archbishop. "And Countess of Montfort," was the answer. "Pray your Grace, give me all my names, for nought else is left me to pleasure me withal--saving a two-three ounces of slea-silk and an ell of gold fringe." "And what else would you?"